Abraham Nazear had presence. My father commanded every room he walked into. He drew people to him like none other. I can recall visiting
his hometown in Egypt and walking down the street with my cousins, where everyone would point and tell me they knew my dad. I felt famous just for the association.
But my father’s presence was much taller than his barely 5’7″ frame. He carried his heart on his sleeve, intentional to share it with any and every person who came across his path.
Growing up we attended a Hispanic pastor’s church in an inner city of New Jersey. The congregation was 99% African-American. And then there we were: the Egyptians who made their family among them.
My father, I’m convinced, thought himself African-American too and changed his vernacular to match, frequently calling people “brother” in the most unusual settings.
[Tweet “You really couldn’t be around him for a long and not leave changed, different, challenged.”]
But regardless of his heavy accent and flashy attire you couldn’t help but be enamored with him. His presence made people dawdle around him. His unmatched generosity made those around him scratch their heads.
Whether the man had plenty or little (and he knew both) he gave it away – bits of himself to anyone who needed or was willing to take. Finances, material things, time and advice where lavished on the lucky ones who knew him.
I can remember his hospital rooms always so overflowing with people that the nurses were constantly asking people to leave (some so they could get a chance to visit with him). I walked in on one nurse as she wiped her tears from her eyes. Startled, I asked, “What’s wrong?” She replied with a smile, “Nothing, you’re lucky to have a father like him”.
“Don’t let it get to his head,” I said slyly. And turning to him I reprimanded, “Now how many times have I told you to stop flirting with the nurses? Mom doesn’t like that!”
Later, the nurse told me how dad had sensed she was uneasy about something and he prayed with her. Simply doing what he did. Depositing bits of himself. That was my father. Constantly dropping seeds into people’s souls.
You really couldn’t be around him for a long and not leave changed, different, challenged. Oh don’t get me wrong, his sharp temper and wry wit got the best of him sometimes. He was not a man accustomed to the word “no”, and he always proved a fitting opponent to my mother’s stubbornness. But his heart was pure gold, larger than life.
In honor of his birthday this month, I’d like to challenge you. Would you for the next week examine how your presence affects those around you? Would you be more intentional about spreading seeds of kindness wherever the opportunity arises?
Thanks Dad for continuing to teach me to be better here on this earth as I reflect on your life, and I look forward to the day when I can hug you again in Heaven. My heart’s desire is to do as you did and be like Jesus in this world.
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